


i believe in angels (something good in everything i see)

by angelica_church_schuyler



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop, M/M, Mutual Pining, basically i had a crisis of faith while i wrote this lmao, gratuitous 70s europop, gratuitous quoting of the bible and cs lewis, gratuitous theological discussion, queen and abba are the two sides of the gay music spectrum change my mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_church_schuyler/pseuds/angelica_church_schuyler
Summary: To some people's delight (and other's annoyance), all the music kept in Aziraphale's bookshop mutates into a copy of ABBA Gold. Strangely, Swedish disco pop ends up being quite an appropriate soundtrack for years of friendship, questioning your existence and worldview, pining, and love.





	1. with a bit of rock music, everything is fine

Technically, the Almighty had invented music. But (at least in Aziraphale’s opinion) humans had _created_ it. 

In the very, very beginning, God created angels with voices and perfect pitch and harps and all that, and they’d sung the same three hundred hymns praising Her over and over again for however many millennia now and it was all very well and good.

But humans, despite missing almost every other bloody interesting thing about the Heavens, had heard it, and, in their wonderful arrogance, had decided they could improve it.  
Perhaps that was a sort of blasphemy, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure. Blasphemy was one of the more confusing sins to understand. Not quite as clear cut as, say, adultery or murder or microwaving fish in a communal kitchen.

But anyway, even if the thought was blasphemous, it was true. Human music was simply better than heavenly music.

The imagination of humans never ceased to amaze him. They could have stuck to the same old voices and harmonies they’d heard from the heavens for however many thousands of years, but no. They’d heard it, they’d got bored of it, and they’d taken it into their own hands, creating new instruments and genres and more songs than anyone Up There or Down There could possibly imagine. They’d heard harps, funny little things that made noise when you touched them in the right way, and they’d thought “Hm, it’s nice, but it could do with something more” and they’d invented pianos, guitars, bass guitars, violins, cellos. They must’ve heard Heaven’s war drums because they’d taken those and made timpani drums and drum kits and then they’d added little sparkly bits and mad tambourines and all sorts of other things that they could bang on. They’d created tubas and French horns where there had only been trumpets, they’d created opera and rock and blues and hip hop and pop and jazz and everything in between. They’d gone from the _Hurrian Hymn_ to _Let It Be_ in just over three thousand years, a diversity of sound Heaven hadn’t even _tried_ to achieve in twice that amount of time. They spoke to each other in psalms, hymns, and songs, and it was beautiful.

And so, as Aziraphale had collected his antique books, he’d also collected music. His music collection wasn’t nearly as large as his book collection, of course, after all, humans had only figured out how to properly record music in...what was it, the 1870s? Around that time. That would’ve been the sort of time he’d borrowed his friend Thomas’s gramophone. Since then, he’d collected records from Paganini to Diana Ross and Lionel Richie, and recently an… _acquaintance_ of his had shown him a wonderful new device called a _cassette,_ which could even be played in a car. It was really quite incredible, and while Aziraphale didn’t have a car he’d acquired a cassette player and a copy of Queen’s Greatest Hits, which seemed to be the only tape Crowley actually owned. Which made sense, actually, considering that it was very good.

Still, Aziraphale had attempted to create a more varied collection of music than his friend, which had worked, until sometime in 1992.  
It was 11 am and Aziraphale had decided to close up the shop for the day. There had been far too many customers already in the half an hour he’d been open, and it was really quite exhausting. He’d much prefer to make a cup of tea, put on a very old Bach record, and read a very old book of amusingly wrong prophecies, and that’s exactly what he did.  
He’d just sat down with his book and his tea when he noticed something was slightly different about this Bach record. For one thing, most of Bach’s music had no lyrics. And even if they did, the vocalists usually didn’t have Swedish accents.

_"Friday night and the lights are low,  
Looking out for a place to go..."_

That was...different. Aziraphale couldn’t remember buying an Abba record, although he supposed he couldn’t rule it out. He wouldn’t put it past himself to buy it, forget it, and accidentally put it in a Bach album sleeve.  
However, upon investigation, he discovered that it was not in a Bach album sleeve. It was in an Abba album sleeve, which admittedly did make sense for an Abba record. But he kept careful track of all of his purchases, and he could find no prior evidence of this album anywhere. It seemed to be a Greatest Hits compilation, much like Crowley’s Queen cassette. 

Aziraphale began rifling through his collection and discovered, to his horror, that all of them were Abba Gold.  
Every. Single One.

(Ironically, the only one that seemed have escaped the other's fate was the Original Broadway Cast Recording of Mamma Mia! The Musical.)

A voice from the door interrupted his train of thought.

“Is that _Dancing Queen?”_  
“Unfortunately, yes.”  
Crowley smiled slightly. “Didn’t think you were into Abba.”  
“I’m not,” Aziraphale grumbled. “But apparently my bookshop is. All the music is the same Abba greatest hits record and I’ve no idea why.”  
Crowley shrugged. “Stuff like this just sort of happens sometimes, you know. It’s a weird old world.”  
“I’m perfectly aware that it’s a weird old world, but I’d much rather it be a weird old world where I don’t have to listen to Swedish pop all day.”  
“Don’t think there’s anything you can do about it, Angel,” said Crowley. “I tried after a few weeks of non-stop Queen and nothing did it. I got used to it. Although, Queen is way better than Abba.”  
Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t have anything against Abba in particular, I just...I like all sorts of different music, you know, and I like that there are so many different types of music. It reminds me of how clever humans can be. I don’t really want to be stuck with one album for the rest of eternity.”

There was a short pause before he continued.

“At least it’s not _The Sound of Music.”_  
Crowley laughed. “Good point, _very_ good point! D’ya know, I think you’re the first angel I’ve ever met who doesn’t _absolutely love_ The Sound of Music?”  
“Yes, I know. The Almighty is obsessed with it.”  
“Yeah, seems like Her kinda thing, doesn’t it?”  
“Hm.” Aziraphale had taken to examining the record player itself and attempting to determine whether the trouble came from that rather than from the actual record. He’d often wondered that about Crowley’s car cassette thing, but he’d never brought it up. “What are you doing here anyway?”  
“Me? Ahh, y’ know, I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d pop in.”  
“Oh. Well, that’s nice of you.”  
“Not really.”  
It was really, but Aziraphale decided not to push it. Crowley got a bit antsy when people called him nice, no matter how true it was. 

There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the record player, or with the record. Nothing else in the shop had changed.  
Aziraphale sighed. “I think if I have to listen to Abba for the rest of time I might go a little bit batty.”  
“You already are. Might as well get out of here, then.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll get the bread.”  
“I think bread’s actually bad for ducks.”  
“Really? Oh dear...But then why does everyone feed it to them?”

The two walked out of the door in step with each other, so engrossed in their discussion about the merits of various different food groups and their impact on the digestive system of ducks that they forgot to turn off the record player.

Neither of them noticed the Best of Queen cassette, still unchanged, perched on a shelf.


	2. just one look and i can hear a bell ring

During his time on earth, Aziraphale had picked up a rather strange habit: he occasionally went to church.  
Most angels stayed away from almost anything remotely related to God or religion, believing they already knew everything they could on the topic. And they were right, he supposed. But he did feel strangely at home in a church. They were kind places, generally, full of kind people. 

Sometimes, he would even pop in on Bible study meetings or classes on theology. They talked about things he already knew or thought he knew, but he found it fascinating to hear about the divine from a human perspective. He (guiltily) found it quite amusing just how wrong they could be. But, on very, very rare occasions, far less often than they were wrong, they would be right. 

Of course, the ones who were right were seldom listened to. He’d even seen some kicked out or excommunicated for saying something the others didn’t like. Aziraphale himself had been excommunicated a few times. 

It was a bit vain of him, but he found their discussions on angels particularly enthralling, probably because he was one, and he could sometimes answer questions which made him look quite clever. 

One on occasion sometime in the 1990s, he’d sat in on a class at the University of London. He couldn’t remember what the actual class was about, but a small group of students towards the back of the class had struck up a discussion that stayed with him. The conversation worried him, almost scared him.

He had no idea of the answers to any of their questions.

This was worrying, considering it was a discussion about angels. Specifically, about whether or not angels were capable of being tempted. Whether they were capable of sin.  
This should’ve been something Aziraphale knew. It should’ve been a simple answer: No. Angels were created as creatures of light, hope, and love. They were created by the Almighty herself as Her messengers, Her representatives, Her foot servants on Earth.

“But then how did Lucifer fall?” asked a young woman with purple hair and multiple nose piercings, echoing Aziraphale's thoughts. She was not what you would expect from the typical theology student, but she had proven herself to be one of those few humans who seemed to be right about a good deal of it.  
“Well, according to the Torah Lucifer isn’t actually evil,” replied another student, this time a young man. “He’s just an angel who’s assigned duty is, you know, temptation.”  
“Why would God assign an angel for that?” yet another student asked.  
The young man shrugged. “He moves in mysterious ways, I guess.”  
“What about Job?” asked the purple haired girl.  
“What about him?”  
“The book of Job, I think it’s chapter 4 or 5 or something. ‘He does not trust His servants and He casts reproach upon His angels.’ That implies that God can be unhappy with his angels, therefore implying that they can sin.”  
“But that’s Job talking, remember. He wasn’t that happy with God at that point.”

Understandably, Aziraphale thought. He’d met Job once, and he was really a very nice man. Aziraphale had secretly thought that that whole mess had been...well, very _slight_ overkill. Not that he would ever claim to know or understand more than the Almighty. He just felt bad for Job.

“And!” the purple haired girl continued. “And the liturgy of Yom Kippur says ‘all the hosts of Heaven are brought for judgement. They shall not be guiltless in your eyes.’”

Aziraphale had forgotten about that bit. 

He’d known angels to be punished, of course. Lucifer and Crowley and that lot were cast out of heaven, right at the very beginning. The two angels who had destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah had been cast out to wander the earth for 138 years for taking credit for the city’s destruction.

Aziraphale could not pretend to be perfect. He may not understand blasphemy very well, but he understood that implying or believing anyone other than the Almighty to be perfect was _definitely_ blasphemy. She may have created humans (and, to a lesser extent, angels) in Her image, but they could never truly be like Her. The very idea was what caused Lucifer to Fall. 

Aziraphale remembered him. Before the Fall. He remembered his arrogance, of course, his horrible and selfish ideas about what he was capable of. But he also remembered his goodness. His genius. His smile.  
He had a lovely smile. A smile that could’ve lit up the heavens.  
He had been extraordinarily capable, really. He’d been at the Almighty’s side since the universe was created. He’d _helped_ create it. And even he had been capable of Falling.

But those days were all gone now. Lucifer had been arrogant, blasphemous; he’d unleashed temptation and suffering and sin onto the world, onto humanity.  
And maybe onto angels as well.

Aziraphale had left the class after that, completely done with that conversation, deciding it was just more silly human nonsense.

He’d been thinking about it for almost twenty years.

* * *

Questioning was not a sin.

That’s what Aziraphale told himself, anyway. Almost every day. Because he questioned almost everything almost every day.

But _questioning_ was not the problem, surely. It was _acting_ on your doubts, intentionally turning your back on God and Heaven, _that_ was a sin. Simply asking a question wasn’t.

Probably.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he would ever ask his questions _out loud._ No, that would get him into quite a lot of trouble. Gabriel would have his head for it. Slight doubts about heaven’s plan weren’t worth dying for. They weren’t worth _Falling_ for.

Speaking of falling, Aziraphale was currently holed up in the dingy back room of his shop with Crowley, who had just dropped off the baby Antichrist with a group of chattery Satanic nuns and was now babbling about dolphins while ABBA sang about hearing bells and not being able to resist someone and wondering why, why you ever let them go.

“There’s no theatres in Heaven,” said Crowley. “And very few films.”

Over their many years on earth together, Crowley had attempted to convince Aziraphale to do plenty of different things (he’d succeeded a few times, but Aziraphale never reminded him of it. He got too cocky). But this was something very different. This was not a relatively harmless Arrangement wherein everything that needed to be done still got done with no one ever finding out. This was _preventing the apocalypse._ Going against the ineffable plan God had in place before angels or demons were even a thought in Her ineffable mind.

“Don’t you try to tempt _me._ I know you, you old serpent.”  
“Just you think about it. You know what eternity is? You know what eternity is?”

This continued for some time. Prattling on about eternity and humanity and _The Sound of Music_ and the ineffable plan and what if the ineffable plan doesn’t involve Armageddon at all but rather the thwarting of Armageddon and et cetera et cetera. It was a very familiar routine:

Step 1: Crowley suggests plan/Arrangement.  
Step 2: Aziraphale resists, inevitably citing the ineffable plan at some point.  
Step 3: Crowley argues back, citing the ineffability of the ineffable plan.  
Step 4: Aziraphale gives in.  
Step 5: Wait a few decades.  
Step 6: Repeat.

_”Look at me now, will I ever learn,  
I don’t know how, but I suddenly lose control…”_

Even after 6000 years (and some admittedly very fun times) Aziraphale still felt the occasional pang of guilt. He knew that he should know better. It was stupid of him, really, to even hang around Crowley. Bad company corrupts good character, a companion of fools suffers harm, the righteous choose their friends carefully but the way of the wicked leads them astray, et cetera.

He had tried to avoid him, sometimes. The Holy Water Incident back in the 60s had been a bit of a wake-up call. Well, actually, the biggest wake-up call had been that church during the war but he didn’t like to dwell on that. Anyway, 1967 was when he realised that this… _attachment_ to a demon might be doing more harm than good. It certainly left him more vulnerable to...to all sorts of things he preferred not to think about. And so he’d tried to distance himself. He’d try and argue his way out of the Arrangement, telling Crowley that actually, being an angel and doing angelic duties didn’t actually require a demon to thwart, so he was alright and there was no need for you to be here, thank you anyway.  
And then Crowley would argue back. And he always had very good points. And he’d buy Aziraphale lunch (or steal it, sometimes) and drive him around London and they’d feed ducks at St James’ Park and Crowley would sink a duck and then look over at him and smile sheepishly and Aziraphale would inevitably agree to whatever stupid idea that stupid demon had come up and he’d just have to hope and pray that it wouldn’t get him discorporated.  
And here it was, happening again. Crowley was exploiting his love of films and music and books and sushi, listing all of the things he’d never get to experience again if this child were allowed to grow up unattended. 

_“...here I go again,  
My, my, how can I resist you?”_

No more St James’. No more ducks. No more Berkeley Square. No more Queen, no more ABBA (as much as he hated to admit it, he’d grown rather fond of them), no more Mozart. No more Shakespeare in the park. No artsy independent films in little tucked away cinemas.

_No more…_ this, _whatever it was. No more wine and dark back rooms. No more him. No more me. No more_ us.

“Godfathers,” he thought out loud. “Well, I’ll be damned.”  
“It’s not that bad,” Crowley grinned, “when you get used to it.”

Well, 90s theology class. There’s your answer. Angels _can_ be tempted. It had been happening to Aziraphale for millennia.

_“Mamma mia, now I really know,  
My, my, I could never let you go...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bible verses quoted/cited: Job 4:18, the Yom Kippur liturgy (technically not a Bible verse but you know what I mean), 1 Corinthians 15:33, Proverbs 13:20, Proverbs 12:26  
> abba songs referenced: Mamma Mia. i unironically believe this is one of the greatest songs ever written and i invite you to fight you if you disagree  
> the dialogue during the "let's lowkey adopt the antichrist" conversation is quoted directly from the book. except the book never mentioned abba.  
> do you ever think about free will?? do you ever think about angels and free will?? i think a lot about angels and free will. and i think a lot about abba. and now the theology and the europop are enmeshed in my mind.  
> anyway, i hope you liked this chapter!! i certainly liked writing it and i did what was probably a disproportionate amount of research for something this short but hey i don't have anything else to do so. why not?


	3. the love you gave me, nothing else can save me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Sheen sir if you read this please know that i love you and you have made my life better just by being you please drop your ao3 username i would love to see your bookmarks

The Apocalypse had begun. The Four Horsemen had wreaked havoc, the Antichrist had unleashed his power, Satan himself had risen from the depths of Hell to claim his child and his earth…

And now Aziraphale and Crowley were on the last bus to Oxford, heading for London.  
And maybe Aziraphale was staying at Crowley’s place. Maybe not. He hadn’t decided yet. 

Aziraphale felt as though nothing and everything had changed. Young Adam had put the world back the way it was, and the armies of Heaven and Hell had backed down, at least for now. But his bookshop had burned down (he wondered vaguely if Abba was playing as the books turned to ash), Heaven's Grand Plan had been disrupted, and he suddenly found himself with no purpose, no loyalties, no _side._ He doubted Heaven would ever contact him again, other than to punish him in some way for preventing their grand, terrible plan. And he didn't think he wanted them to.

He certainly wasn’t on _their_ side anymore. But, maybe, he did have _a_ side. A side that came with a place and a purpose and loyalties and all sorts of things he'd just now realised he'd been longing for for so long.  
_“Our side.”_  
Crowley had said that twice now. The first time at the bandstand felt as though it were both hours ago and a thousand years ago, and then it had struck him as selfish. “Our side” then had meant Alpha Centauri, running away, abandoning earth and Heaven and Hell, being recklessly brave and incredibly cowardly at the same time.  
The second time, only a few minutes ago at a bus stop, "our side” had felt like safety. It meant going home (whose home?) together, waiting, until the whole thing had blown over or until forces more powerful than them decided to ruin everything for them. It meant an odd couple, an angel and a demon, living in a minimalist flat in London with the curtains perpetually drawn, waiting to be discovered and dealt with.

_(Could he even call himself an angel anymore?)_

Public transportation was a very strange thing. Crowley would take credit for it’s more annoying features, he was sure. Buses, in particular, seemed to exist outside of time. When you were outside one, waiting for it to show up, the one minute until it’s scheduled arrival time could last anywhere between a millisecond and a million years. When you were inside one, waiting to get where you wanted to go, it was much the same thing, only you didn't always have a good estimate of when you needed to get off and you were often left alone with your thoughts. Buses at night always tended to be the place where you thought things you didn’t want to think.  
Sitting on this particular bus, on this particular night, with this particular demon beside him, Aziraphale almost felt as though he was not bound by the laws of time _or_ space. There was no Tadfield, no Oxford, no Soho, no London. Only two seats, two sort-of people, and Aziraphale’s racing thoughts.  


(And, of course, Abba had followed him here too. The radio was just loud enough that he could hear those Swedish bastards, but just quiet enough that their voices were a little bit creepy, almost ghostly.)

_What would it mean,_ he thought, _to be on their own side? To stay with Crowley, for however long they had left? What would happen to the world? What would happen to them?_  
He did not expect the two of them to be left alone. He couldn’t imagine that the forces of the Prince of Darkness and the King of Kings would give up that easily. Truth be told, he hadn’t even expected to get this far. He’d expected he’d be discorporated again back at the airbase. Part of him thought he’d finally Fall there.

He’d been afraid of Falling for as long as he could remember. 

He was honestly surprised it hadn't happened yet. He hated to admit it, but over the years he'd done a few things which might, from a certain perspective, be seen as "wrong". Defying Her orders and giving his sword away at the end of that first week. Striking up a deal with a demon in the Middle Ages. Every single day when he questioned Her, every day from the beginning to the Almost End.  
Maybe going home with Crowley, with all of the connotations of that phrase and everything that would entail, would be the final straw for Her, one last small act of defiance in which he would officially turn his back on God and Heaven forever. 

Well, maybe not quite. 

Heaven, he’d already turned his back on. If he was honest with himself, he’d given up on them a long time ago.  
But God? He wasn’t sure he could ever really reject Her. He’d never understood her, always questioned Her, constantly doubted Her, lied to Her. But he’d always felt that She was Good. Every time he’d done something he knew Heaven would disapprove of but that he’d felt was right, he was sure it was Her. Something in his heart told him so.  
Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t Fallen yet. Despite everything, he still believed in Her, tried to serve Her, and loved Her, no matter what else he did. She was a forgiving God, after all.  
Which turned his thoughts back to Crowley. 

Crowley _had_ Fallen. He’d defied Her, openly, fell in with Lucifer and asked too many questions and been struck down with the rest of them. But it had been a long time ago, and he’d done so much good since. 

If God seemed to have forgiven Aziraphale, why wouldn’t she forgive Crowley? 

Aziraphale could not think of anything Crowley had done, not since that first rebellion, that would warrant never being forgiven. He supposed Crowley was technically a demon who had taken part in an attempted coup against God, unleashed sin upon the earth, and caused general chaos and mischief in the world for a few thousand years. But, in Aziraphale’s eyes at least, that didn't mean he was incapable of goodness and kindness and love. Godliness.  
From a certain perspective, Crowley had caused Adam and Eve to disobey God. From a different perspective, he’d shown a woman the difference between good and evil, given her the greatest and most powerful knowledge one could ever possess. He’d despaired at the sacrifice of people, children, families, to set an example of a sinful world. He’d shown the world to a poor carpenter doomed to die horrifically through no fault of his own. He’d tempted an angel and helped raise young Warlock and saved all of humanity. 

He’d saved Aziraphale. In France first, but then again during the Blitz. Aziraphale had rationalised this as being due to the Arrangement. It couldn’t go on if he was discorporated, after all. 

But then there were the books. 

The books were what really changed things. If Crowley had just let those books burn (like Aziraphale’s beautiful old books had burned today), they both might’ve gone on with their lives, blissfully pretending not to realise what they were becoming. 

But he hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t. He’d committed one small act, one tiny miracle, that had changed absolutely bloody everything. 

He had no reason to save the books. He wasn’t remotely interested in their contents, he couldn’t have cared less about their historical significance. But Aziraphale did.  
It was one tiny miracle committed not out of selfishness or greed or necessity. Just out of love.  
It was at that moment the Aziraphale realised that Crowley was truly good, underneath it all. The moment he knew, for a fact, that Crowley was capable of acts of pure kindness and care and _love._ It was that moment when he realised he loved Crowley, that he’d loved him for a long time, and that, worst of all, Crowley might be capable of loving him _back._ It was in that moment he realised that he would turn his back on Heaven and earth and everything he’d ever known or loved if it meant being with him. 

So, naturally, he panicked, refused Crowley’s offer of a ride home, avoided him for 27 years, and attempted to forget and repress all of that. 

Despite the books, despite the miracle, Crowley was still a demon, a sworn enemy, a creature of evil. Aziraphale had to keep reminding himself of that. Once he’d seen Crowley drunkenly babble about whales, heard him absentmindedly hum along to Queen in the car, seen him smile and heard the fondness in his voice when he called him “angel”, it was difficult to think of him as evil.  
Whether demons were able to be saved or not, Aziraphale had forgiven him a long, long time ago.  
But, apparently, God hadn't, despite being able to see everything Aziraphale did and more. 

So, maybe, just this once, God was wrong. 

_(Aziraphale held his breath, bracing himself, waiting for a bolt of lightning or hellfire or _something_ to rain down from the sky and strike him down forever.  
Nothing came.)_

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice snapped him back to reality, as it so often did. “You alright?”  
Aziraphale turned to look at his enemy, his ally, his friend. Behind his sunglasses, he looked as tired as Aziraphale felt.  
“Yes, I'm, well, you know...big day."  
"Bit of an understatement."  
"Yes, well..." Aziraphale stared straight ahead, suddenly very interested in the head of the woman sitting a few rows in front of them. "Crowley, when...When you said I could stay with you...did you mean that?”  
“Of course,” Crowley’s brow furrowed, seemingly confused at the very idea that he would ever rescind an offer of kindness to his friend. “Did you want to? Or would you rather sleep on the bus?”  
“You know I don’t sleep.”  
“You know what I mean. So, is that a yes?” 

Other people’s words began to echo in Aziraphale’s head. When you spend all your time reading, your inner voice tends to turn into other people’s on occasion.  
_Love your enemies. Perfect love drives out fear. The love you gave me, nothing else can save me. Though our feelings come and go, His love for us does not. Love covers over a multitude of sins. All you need is love. Love covers over all wrongs. Love, love, love, love, love._

A few days ago, a few hours even, the answer to Crowley's question would’ve been an obvious no. _Of course not,_ he would proclaim. _I would never stay at the home of a vile, foul creature such as yourself, O Enemy Mine. Begone in the name of the Almighty!_

But that was then. Before the Almost-Pocalypse. Before the books. Before that kind, concerned way Crowley had reminded him of the burning bookshop, before he'd said "we're on our side" with so much care and wonder and love in his voice.  
It could never be a no again. 

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. From now on, he resolved, it would always be a yes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, reading this chapter and realising that it makes literally no sense whatsoever: it's uhhhhhhh stream of consciousness it was an artistic choice
> 
> bible verses referenced: Luke 6:27, 1 John 4:18, The Gospel of ABBA: S.O.S, C.S. Lewis, 1 Peter 4:8, The Gospel of Lennon and McCartney, Proverbs 10:12
> 
> i hope you liked this chapter, i had a lot of trouble with it and i don't particularly love it lol but i hope you guys like it. thank you for reading xx

**Author's Note:**

> hi! before you ask how this happened, i don't know. but it did. and here it is. i hope you like it!  
> this chapter is basically just a prologue tbh. there's no particular thematic or lyrical reason that the title is from Dancing Queen except that that's the first song on ABBA Gold so it seemed like a good introduction. also it's iconic and the lyric "with a bit of rock music, everything is fine" is the most truthful lyric i have ever heard.  
> big thanks to sav, my queen, i love you <3


End file.
